my son, my hero

I haven't written much about this, or even a little, for that matter. But now it's over, we're on the other side, and my baby is smiling. And that smile is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's been a tough past several months as we prepared and geared up for Lucas' big surgery. We had months of anxiety, and panic, and just plain fear. We had weeks of build up to the big day, only to have it canceled the day before. Ear tubes were put in, and again we geared up for the big day. When it finally arrived, I was so nervous, and so on the edge, I felt unusually calm as we drove to the hospital, despite the thunderous downpour.

Lucas was filled with smiles, and as Josh walked him to the operating room, and he started to fuss because he was starting to realize how hungry he was, I felt an overwhelming weight just pushing down on me. I cried quietly until Josh returned and said he was asleep and the surgery would start soon.

In the waiting room, the seconds moved far too slowly and loudly. The minutes were endless, and the hours everlasting. After almost 5 hours Drs. D. and M. came out to talk to us. There were complications and as they spoke to us, I could barely make out their voices, and the room was spinning. My fear-induced calmness shattered and I broke down in a million little pieces. Again, we waited-for what felt like the longest seconds, minutes, and hours of my life. Once Dr. M. came back out I just wanted to hug him and never let go for saving my little boy and for saying we could go see him.

As we walked to the PICU, we were introduced to the nurses and other doctors who had fixed my baby, and each time, I felt such amazing gratitude for each and every one of them, thank yous were not enough. As we waited to go into his room, Josh reminded me to be brave and I knew that with him by my side, everything would be ok.

We walked in and Lucas was asleep, still sedated. He looked like he'd gotten into a big brawl, but his head dressing hid the worst of it. I cried softly, but I was so happy to see him, I just held his hand and thanked God for giving him light and protecting him and making him alright. I thanked all our friends and family who have been so supportive, and I thanked our doctors for the amazing work they did.

It wasn't until the next day, late in the morning, that Lucas was allowed to wake up. He was still badly swollen, and he couldn't open his eyes, but after asking if I could hold him, and nurse him, I was the happiest I've ever been as I held him in my arms and he took comfort in nursing and finally stopped crying.

The next few days went by in a blur. Every progress was amazing, and that first smile after Tuesday made my heart burst!

We were discharged on Friday afternoon. Only four days after we had arrived. On Tuesday morning, these amazing doctors had opened up my baby's head, reconstructed his skull, and by lunch time on Friday, we were driving home. He was all bruised up, and still swollen, but he was full of smiles.

As Josh said, he is a total badass--he is my son, my hero.



* Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, to all our friends, family and to the wonderful doctors who helped us get through this. We are so blessed and grateful for each and every one of you.

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tranquility

this weekend I got a break from the delightful chaos my life has become. I was gone for approximately 30 hours, at an amazing Inn in Charlottesville, Va. Before I left, I wondered if it was too short a getaway, then I debated whether it might be too long-a whole night away? I didn't leave Chloë until she was well over a year. The morning arrived, and I found myself eager for the drive, which I took with a good friend. In the 30 hours I was gone, I revelled in festivities of a friend's bachelorrete weekend; basked in the sound of silence as there were no shrills of "mommmmyyyyy" anywhere in sight; slept with the knowledge that no one would wake me; and basically relaxed .. had some spa treatments, engaged in a ridiculous amount of girl talk, and read. Read without having to stop to unload the washer, or change a diaper, or take someone to the potty. It was heavenly. However, before the 30 hours were up, I missed the giggles, and the coos, and the diaper changing, and the smell of freshly washed baby clothes, and the delightful chaos my life has become. In the end, it was the perfect getaway. Long enough to enjoy being on my own, but short enough so I could get back to my loves.



a dusting of snow on the roses outside the room


the view from the breakfast table

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a picture is worth a thousand words

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my little boy

lucas, february 2011

it's only been 4 months and he's already starting to look like such a little boy! it amazes me and fills me with so much love, and also makes me think time is going a little too fast. I've tried to cherish every moment, every memory, every milestone, just as I did with the first pumpkin, but sometimes it feels as if we're fastforwarding through this babyhood, with so much going on. I barely have time to breathe sometimes, and I have neglected to post more stories and pictures of my latest pumpkin, but despite the lightning speed at which life is moving forward at the moment, and the semi-organized chaos our lives seems to have become, I can still see every first--his first cry, his first gaze into my eyes, his first smile, that first giggle (oh! nothing better!), all those memories, they're safely stored in my heart, even if they have not yet been captured on a baby book, or on this blog of mine. because this little boy, he is something else. it's early, I'm still sleep deprived, but I could not have asked for anything more than my two perfect little pumpkins.




my two pumpkins, december 2010

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10/13/10

10/13/10. Thirteen has always been my lucky number.

On October 11, 2010, after being off bed rest for 11 days, I went out on a crazy fun day with my Chloë. We went to the mall, shopped up a storm, played around, ran, had lunch together, and still made time to go to the Pumpkin Patch after nap. By the time I got home that evening, I didn't think too much of the wave of constant contractions that had come over me. I had been having contractions for weeks, so this wasn't new. What I didn't realize until I was out again--this time at the mall by myself once Chloë had gone to bed--was that these contractions were about 4-5 minutes apart, and could technically lead to labor. I went home, called Dr. F. who instructed me to up my dose of medication and see if we could buy a few more days. I was 37 weeks and 3 days. The next two days that followed were uncomfortable, and full of moments when we thought "this is it!" However, it wasn't until Wednesday morning, on October 13, 2010, that I realized we were having a baby. We had an appointment with Dr. F. at 1pm, and he pushed it earlier. As I got dressed, I packed as if we were heading to the hospital, which alarmed Josh a little, but he quickly got on board.

The 45 minute car ride to Dr. Fr's office, as well as our short time in the waiting room was filled with contractions every 5 minutes. It didn't take Dr. F. more than a couple of minutes to look at me, smile, and ask me if I was ready to have a baby. With that, we headed to the hospital, knowing that in a few hours, we'd get to meet our little boy.

After waiting for about five hours before they could take us to the operating room, at 5:33pm we got to meet our newest miracle: Lucas. He was born at 37 weeks and 5 days, full term, weighing in at 7 lbs 4 oz, measuring 19 3/4 long, with a full head of dark hair. He cried as they got him out, and Josh got to hold him right away. Once I was back in the room, it wasn't long before they brought him to me, and as I put him close to my chest, he instinctively started eating. The feeling of being able to hold my baby right after birth, in my room, with me, is something I wasn't prepared for. It was what I had always dreamed of, and the impact of having that dream come true was overwhelming.

Our first night, I think I held Lucas most of the time Josh wasn't busy on diaper duty. It was magical. It has now been a little over two weeks, and it is still magical. All those long days on bed rest, all the worries, all the frustration...they have all melted away as I hold my baby boy, my other little miracle. It was all worth it. And as I have said, over and over, words just can't describe it.


Lucas, a couple of hours old.


Lucas, one week old.


My two babies.

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a tale of two pregnancies

While both my pregnancies have resulted in bed rest, they have also both been very different. The most poignant difference at the moment is that I am currently the most pregnant I have ever been. Chloë was born when I was 33 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Below is the face of a 33 weeks and 5 days pregnant woman who wants to be HUGELY pregnant-not something you see, or hear about every day. At this point, most women are counting down the days for the baby to come out, I'm still counting down the days so I can stay pregnant longer.


33 weeks and 5 days

Today I am 34 weeks and have survived 14 weeks of bed rest. At the moment, if everything continues to go well, I will be taken off bed rest in exactly 2 weeks, and I have a fantasy where this little guy decides that after all this time, he's just going to stay in there until 39-40 weeks. Just for kicks. Then again, there's a good chance he'll come out within a day, or 2, of me going off bed rest, stopping my medications and removing my cerclage--all scheduled for Friday, October 1, 2010.

As I pat myself on the back, and marvel at the fact that I'm still (arguably) half sane, I got nostalgic and decided to look through pictures of my growing belly, both in 2008 and now.


23 weeks, then and now

To be honest, I don't see much difference in how my belly looked, but some people swear it looks higher and rounder this time.


31 weeks, then and now

Either way, I'm still beaming from the high of currently being the most pregnant I've ever been. It's a feeling that I know won't ever go away, because every day, I'm even more pregnant than the day before. And once this little guy makes his debut (no hurry!) I'll know that I kept him in longer than I ever thought possible.

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never ending days

It's been a month since I last offered any updates on how we're holding up as bed rest continues for me, and Chloë just becomes more and more rambunctious.

This week I am 30 weeks pregnant, a huge milestone for someone who lived with 8 weeks of not knowing if I'd make it to a good viability point. Having endured almost 10 weeks of bed rest, I feel like a survivor already, but there's another six weeks to go, and I'm not going to lie, it's tough, very tough, but each week I hold this baby in, I know it's less time spent in the NICU, and having spent 2 weeks in the NICU with Chloë, after weeks of hospital bed rest, I am willing to do anything to avoid that this time around.

Saying that almost makes it seem like I'm totally great doing this, however, as I described it to someone earlier this week, long term bed rest is a very special kind of hell. I have passed the halfway mark, and as I said, I have another six weeks to go. At 36 weeks the doctors will remove my cerclage, take me off my medications, and at that point I'm off bed rest and free to deliver whenever. The goal is to make it to at least 37 weeks, though Dr. F. is being very optimistic and believes I will make it to 39 weeks, which is when he scheduled my c-section for. Personally, I have hopes of making it to 38 weeks and spending the weeks after I'm released from bed rest lazing by the pool, getting mani/pedis, doing last minute touches to the nursery finished, and perhaps going to a movie or two. But who knows, I could deliver the minute they remove my cerclage. Either way, this fantasy is what has kept me going the last few weeks.

As the weeks have crawled along, I've had good days and bad days. On good days I relish in the anticipation of the baby boy that's almost here (no need to hurry, though!) and I daydream about what life will be like once he joins us on the outside. On bad days, I wallow in self pity and wonder how I'm going to make it one more day, one more week, and would it be really bad if I just ignored some of the doctor's orders and went out for the day. Thankfully, the good days are enough to make me conquer the bad days, and I trudge along. Whatever the day, though, I have something that always perks me up:


the face of someone who's about to get into trouble...


sweet moments with daddy

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time and changes

A Letter to Chloë, on your 2nd birthday

From the moment my belly started bulging out a few months ago, until about 5 weeks ago, I cherished our bedtime routine, knowing they might come to an abrupt end through no fault of our own. I would hold you in my arms, and you always stuffed your face into my neck, trying to fit it just right, and you'd put your arms around me, and sigh so peacefully. They were short minutes, when I would hold you tight before placing you in your crib. I would say "'night, 'night" and you'd grab your bear and watch me leave the room. There were some nights I almost cried, because I knew that those days were almost over, that not only was my belly getting bigger, and bed rest was looming in our future, but you are also getting bigger, more independent, knowing your own mind, and some nights would quickly want to move from my shoulders to your crib.

Now you are two--two full years, and Daddy has been putting you to bed every night, for about 5 weeks now. Those first few days when you'd complain as you went upstairs and I stayed behind on the couch, I would cry as I heard you and Daddy upstairs, laughing, getting your PJs on, and doing our routine. I would cry because I miss you, because I know by the time I'm able to once again hold you in my arms before bed, you might not want it anymore because you are two. Two full years. Full of life, wants and demands.

I don't cry anymore, because I know you are strong and you understand. You kiss and pat my belly, but I still think you have no idea exactly how our world will rock when this other little treasure comes out into the world. It will be amazing, and with all that you have become in the last two years, you will also be amazing.

So for now, I celebrate your birthday, the little person you're becoming, and as I lay on the couch, on the bed, on the floor, I enjoy every minute of you. You, with your curls, and your knowing smile, your mischievous eyes, and all your charm. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I just knew it, you were about to rock my world, and you've never disappointed.

I love LOVE love you! Amo MUITO!

-Mommy


there are no words

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because it's worth it

this is day 26 of bed rest and for all the moments I want to rip my hair out or cry for hours on end, there's one thing that keeps me going. Knowing that I'll have a little piece of me, a little piece of Josh, wandering around climbing trees, and just looking positively mischievous.


climbing trees with friend, Chase


looking angelic to some, but really, ready to pounce on mischief

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Deja vu

It's been weeks since I last decided to share anything of what this pregnancy has been like for us, and in that time, I also neglected to share anything related to Chloë. I just didn't think I could write without revealing all, so I chose not to write at all. We've had a rollercoaster of a month, and are slowly, slowly (but surely) getting adjusted to a new routine, our new reality. We are now a little over 5 months along and going on day 11 of bed rest.

Yup-bed rest again. The first time, while brutal, it was totally doable. I didn't disrupt too much, just stayed in bed, or on the couch working away until Josh came home from work. This time we have Chloë. We've had to change our schedules, figure out different routines, get her used to different things, and most of all, get me used to not being with her, doing things with her, for her, all the time. It's been insanely hard for me, and her. She's much better at getting used to it, she's tough. I'm still struggling, though hanging in there. I'm still able to work, so the distraction has been a blessing. Wonderful friends have helped in so many ways, and Josh has been a rock.

Without Josh and his ability to make it all ok, I'm not sure how I'd be doing right now. He has reminded me a few times this week that I can do it, and of course it's going to be hard, because as of now, as of 5 months ago, we don't just have one kid, we have two kids. And that's what makes it worth it, I know that I'm doing this for this little boy that's kicking my bladder every day, countless times a day, making me race for the bathroom. And I know from experience that as soon as I hold him in my arms, as soon as I see his face, I'll forget all about the hard part. So for now, I'll just lay here. For him. As I did for her.


they make it all worthwhile.

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Motherhood

Last year, Mother's Day was so huge for me, it marked such a miracle, I was overwhelmed with emotions days before the actual day. This year, life has been so hectic, it took me until the day was almost over to realize that this Mother's Day, I have received another miracle. I was always told that the chances of me conceiving naturally were pretty much nonexistent, and after Chloë was born, I knew that despite that, I could still be a mother. We had just started contemplating adding another baby to the mix when before we even had a chance to figure out what the next step was in trying for another miracle--the miracle descended upon us.

It was March 1st when I took my third or fourth home pregnancy test since having had Chloë. See, since we thought we couldn't conceive naturally, there was never any reason to use any kind of birth control. Every once in a while, I would take a test if there was a big event, say a wedding, or a huge night out planned, where old school college days type drinking might be in order. March 1st was such a day. Josh and I were due to leave for Miami for our first vacation without Chloë, and we had plans to have a wild week. When that test turned positive, I was dumbfounded. I always took the test thinking, knowing, it was just a precaution, that it would be negative, and March 1st was no different. I actually left the test sitting on the bathroom counter for a couple of hours before I remembered about it. When I picked it up, and saw it, I rushed to the bedroom where I could sit down, and I hyperventilated. I could barely breathe. I cried in disbelief, with total joy, a unique kind of joy, because I still couldn't, wouldn't, let myself believe that this could be real. I went to the doctor that same day, and there it was. A baby.

This Mother's Day I celebrated my first miracle, my Chloë bear, my pumpkin. I also celebrated this baby in my belly which came to us when we least expected it. On top of it all, I was celebrated by my amazing husband and daughter who let me sleep in, made me breakfast, took me out for lunch, and showered me with gifts. Motherhood: today I have no complaints.

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she's ok, really. REALLY!

Since the last time I posted, LOTS have happened, but I'll leave that to another post. This one is dedicated to the first time Chloë got a major BOO BOO!

It was a normal Thursday afternoon, the weather was great, and as we've been doing for the last few days of total sunshine and butterflies that we've been having, we've been hanging out in the patio and the backyard after Chloë comes home from daycare. Yesterday was no different. We kicked around a ball, pushed Chloë in her car, walked around looking for pine cones, and continuously told Chloë NOT to climb onto the picnic table. We must have scolded her a MILLION times "Chloë, don't STAND on the table, SIT on the bench." Over and over and OVER.

As one can imagine, our countless warnings and reminders did nothing to prevent what was mostly inevitable since Chloë learned how to climb onto the picnic table bench and onto the table. I was sitting on a chair a few feet away, and Josh was maybe 2 seconds from grabbing her as Chloë, for oh, maybe the 946th time, climbed onto the picnic table bench and started to try and get her momentum to swing herself onto the table and whoops, lost her balance. In the two seconds it took for her to not grab a hold of the table and actually dive headfirst onto the slate floor, Josh rushed over and I instinctively turned my head and closed my eyes. Yes, I refused to look. Not exactly what you'd think would be the first mom thing to do, but it's exactly what I did: I looked away. Josh missed her, and she fell head first onto the floor and hit her forehead. She screamed and screamed, and as Josh picked her up she immediately called for me at which point, I quickly composed myself, took a deep breath and opened my arms up for her. She hugged me immediately and just cried and cried. As I watched her face, and saw her tears, I was amazed at just how quickly the bruise and gigantic BUMP on her forehead appeared. Right before my eyes! We called the Doctor who told us these things usually look MUCH worse than they are (REALLY? Have you fallen off a picnic table headfirst onto the slate patio floor recently?) and instructed us to make sure her pupils looked normal, and she didn't throw up, and keep her up for a couple of hours.

We sat there watching her and trying to put ice on her forehead as she swatted us away saying "Não! Não!" and she seemed ok. She was back to playing in less than 10 minutes, and 12 minutes after her fall was once again trying to climb up the picnic table. Her forehead, on the other hand, is definitely indicative of the good fight she got into with the floor. All in all, major crisis averted.


no bump picture because, well, it looks awful!

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breathe on me

When I was little and I would sneak onto my parent's bed, I always wanted to synchronize my breathing with my mom's breathing, while she slept, so that I wouldn't have to breathe her 'old' air. Even as a teenager, if I shared a bed with my mom, or my sister, I insisted on synchronizing our breathing. I could not stand the thought of breathing someone else's 'old' air. Until now. Tonight, as I put Chloë to bed, I was singing to her, and she fell asleep on my shoulders, her face nuzzled against my own. Once she was asleep, I stopped singing and just stared at her. I could stare at her for hours, days. And that's when I realized that I could feel her breathing against my own breathing, and that I was in fact breathing her old air. Except, I cherished it. And for once, I did not try to synchronize my breathing.

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missing you

*written on December 27, 2009*

dear Chloe,

sometime in the next few weeks, we will share our last nursing session together. we've been working on this for a while, and we're down to morning and night, and you've been asking less and less. It seems you're getting used to not needing me as often. It seems you're growing up. I've had a hard time coming to terms with you weaning. In a way, it feels like you're leaving. It feels like one of the first, big, defining moments in our relationship.

But then I realize that from the day you were born, our lives have been filled with defining moments, which will ultimately shape you into the woman you will become. I remember all those moments like they just happened. Your first smile, and when you learned how to crawl, and your first steps, the first time you laughed a real belly laugh. I remember them all. I cherish them all.

So now, I've been nursing you, and holding you close each morning, and each night, like it'll be our last time. And each day, when you hold me close and drink my milk, I sketch your photograph in my mind, just in case, in case it'll be the last time.

--
*written on January 17, 2010*

It's now been almost a month since I started weaning you. I told myself for so long, how hard this would be for you, how I couldn't wean you because you just loved nursing so much, that I barely stopped to realize that in the end, I would miss it the most. Tonight as you nursed, you started drifting off to sleep, but you woke up when you realized there wasn't as much milk as you wanted. You whimpered, and caressed me, and said "oh, mommy.." and you closed your eyes and fell back asleep. When I laid you down in your crib, you rolled over grabbing your lovey, I kissed you goodnight, and I knew. Tonight, you are weaned. Tonight, I miss you.

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my glue

for four days last week, into early this week, Chloë was attached to me. She was sick, and I have never seen her like this before. Through countless bouts of ear infection, and colds, and fever spikes, I have never seen my pumpkin so clingy, so needy, so attached. In the last several weeks, she has become so independent, walking every which way, throwing temper tantrums like a big girl, and brushing my hugs aside, I had started to wonder if her entry into toddlerhood hadn't come a little too soon. And then, on Friday she glued herself to me and didn't let go. While I wished her well with every fiber of my body, I also cherished her warmth, the feeling of her head on my chest, her arms gripping my arms, and the overwhelming need she had for me. By Monday, I was getting a little claustrophobic, but even before it was over, even before she unstuck herself from me, I already missed her. It's now Friday night and she's been unstuck for a couple of days. I miss her.

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lest I forget

and she is always quick to remind me why I love her so, so much I could burst. Even after evenings where she is cranky, and throwing ridiculous tantrums for no reason, the kind where she looks up at me and stomps her feet, one at a time, while belting out the most piercing cry you'll ever hear, even after all that, I can still smile moments later when she is happily snuggled up in my arms, nursing contently, tracing the features of my face, and staring at me with sleepy, sleepy eyes.

Last night was one of those nights, and as she shrieked and swatted my arms away as I tried to hold her, I stayed cool, calm and collected. The motherhood Gods rewarded me moments later with a baby that was just so, so tired, that as soon as we sat in her glider, she sighed and wrapped her arms around me, positioned herself just right, and barely started nursing before she was on her way, drifting off to sleep.

I held her a little while longer than usual, enjoying the moment. I breathed her in, and I kissed her goodnight.

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getting better...

but still not 100%. hence the lack of new blog posts...nothing to report, just a lingering cough and Chloë's persistent ear infection which, if I could, I would take it from her, so she could feel better. Even if it meant I would feel awful, awful...I just want her to be 100%.

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one whole year

dear Chloë,

today you are one. You are one WHOLE year old. Earlier this week I had lunch with some friends, and one of them was 8 months pregnant, and my mind drifted off to the days when you were inside me, always close to me. The days when I could always protect you, the days when I didn't have to hold on to you because you were just always there. And then I remembered, oh yah, I never made it to 8 months...so I don't exactly remember how it is to be THAT kind of pregnant, but still, I remember your kicks, and your jabs, and OH MAN--your HICCUPS! ALL the frickin' time! You had these hiccuping fits four or five times a day, and I would look down on my belly, terribly amused at the little dance your hiccups played in my tummy. I remember everything.

I remember our hospital stay, and the contractions that lasted for three weeks, and the countless times you tried to come out and the doctors kept you inside for a little while longer. I remember the day when you finally decided enough was enough and the nurse smiled at us and said "Well, you're having a baby today..." and I just cried and cried. I remember I wanted you to stay inside so badly, even if just for a little while longer, but when you did come out, and come out in style you did--crying and everything--I was so glad to see you on the 'outside'. I remember holding you for the first time and not even noticing exactly just how tiny you were, because all I could focus on was the fact that I was finally holding you--my baby--and I remember looking down at you as you nursed for the very first time. I remember it all.

I remember bringing you home, and the car ride that lasted forever because we were probably doing 30mph on 495. I remember all those sleepless nights, and checking on you to make sure you were still breathing. I remember your first smile, and hearing that first laughter, and seeing you learn how to crawl. I remember all of it.

It is all etched in my mind, painted on my heart.

And now, you're one. You are still always close to me, always hanging on to my chest, and my shoulders. And when you're tired, or cuddly, or shy, you rest your head on my chest and sigh heavily. And I still always do all I can to protect you (as I will for the rest of my life), and you still hiccup ALL the time!

Daddy always says he wishes you could stay "this small" forever, and sometimes I wish for that too. But something inside of me tells me, that to us, you will always be this small forever, no matter how big you get. You will always be our little pumpkin, our Chloë bear who couldn't wait to be born, and actually arrived in time to party at her own baby shower.

Here's to you, may your first birthday be everything you deserve!

PS. I'm so excited you would think this is MY birthday (which in a way, I guess it is...) and now I can officially say my own birthday doesn't feel nearly as exciting to me as yours does!



on the day you were born


one year later...

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dear chloë--a letter written some time ago

dear chloë,

soon you will be starting daycare. it doesn't seem like such a big deal if you think about it really quickly, but from where I'm standing, it's a huge deal--like someone once said, one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind--or in our case: one small step for Chloë, one giant leap for mommy. the transition from nanny to daycare will be tough, they say. for me, not so much for you.

we've been hanging out together for over 10 months now..I sit in my room, or in the office working away, with the knowledge that you're just down the hall, playing with your nanny, and sometimes I even hear your giggling or babbling. everytime I sneak in a few minutes of playtime with you, whether it's during a bathroom break, or if I'm grabbing a snack, the smile in your face when you see me (sometimes even my footsteps make you giggle in anticipation!), it just melts my heart. even the initial crying you do when I walk away is endearing, because I know it'll soon be over, and it's just really because you wish I could stay and play all day.

please know that daddy and I have made the decision to send you to daycare so you can meet other babies and get to hang out with some cool older kids. trust me, while you may miss home during those first few days, soon enough you'll love it there. and if mommy looks like she's crying on those first few days when I drop you off or pick you up, please understand, this transition is probably much harder for me than it is for you.

and please know that as you get older, there will be many more times when mommy cries for reasons you'll only understand when you become a mommy yourself. so cut me some slack, and know that I love you so--

so, so much, and if you happen to tug at my heart when I drop you off at daycare on that very first day, I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold it together. so I ask you please--beg you--to try to be the big girl that you are and smile as I walk away, so I can manage to not cry while you can see me, because I'm going to try to be a big girl too.

the first time I held you.

**this letter was written several weeks ago on April 21st, and I never posted it because well, it was poorly written--it's all over the place. however, tomorrow is Chloë's first day at daycare, so ...here's hoping posting this will make me feel better and give me the strength I need to not break down in tears.

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happy mother's day to me

when I was 23 I was told I may never become a mother.

After a laparoscopy removed endometriosis implants from my uterus, the Doctor told me that I may never become a mother. I remember my own mother, eyes filled with fear and sadness, and I remember me, not really grasping the full meaning of what I was being told, but thinking that somehow, I was broken inside.

It took a while, a few years, for the reality to sink in, and for me to start thinking about my life in those terms...trying to plan and figure things out to maximize my chances of becoming a mother, if it were at all possible. It's ironic, because when I was younger, much younger, I used to say I never wanted to have kids. When that possibility became much closer to a reality than I could have ever imagined, I was scared. I had never been more scared than anything in my life. I never told anyone how scared I was.

In the end, I was blessed with finding a man who loved me for all that I am, broken parts and all. Before we got married, Josh knew that if we wanted to become parents, we would need to start working on it right away. For both of us, we started trying to make our family a little sooner than we would have otherwise done so. That was scary too, because I didn't know whether I'd be ready (though now I know you're never really ready until you're a mother...and even then, there are moments you're still not ready.)

After a year of trying, and many doctor visits, our new Doctor told me that not only did I have endometriosis, but I also had PCOS--double whammy. I will never forget, though, the day in his office when he looked me in the eye and confidently stated that "we would get me pregnant." I think his confidence relaxed me, and gave me much needed faith.

Faith got me through the next few months of multiple doctor appointments, and frustration, and pain--pain for what may never be.

The day when I went in to see Dr. D because of horrible cramps and just an overall yucky feeling, it never crossed my mind that all that faith had paid off. He did some tests, and I went to work. He never told me that one of those tests was a pregnancy test. A few hours later when he called me to tell me the results, he told me he had the best Christmas present for me. It didn't quite register, but when he said those words "You're pregnant--Merry Christmas," I swear my heart stopped. My whole body was shaking and I just wept. I wept for all those years I had lived thinking this would never happen, that motherhood would never be my reality. I wept for the man that married me despite knowing that I may not be able to give birth to his child. I wept for my mother for thinking that her youngest daughter may never become a mother. Through all my tears, I was smiling, inside and out, smiling so hard it hurt, and when I told Josh I had the best Christmas present for him, he didn't believe me. He thought I was joking. I think for him it didn't quite sink in until I peed on a stick and handed it to him. I still have that stick.

All those months of all day sickness (not sure why they call it morning sickness...) and all the extra precaution, and all those weeks on bedrest...all those months, they were all worth it. On July 9th, 2008, a Wednesday, all those months became worth it. When I heard Chloë crying as they got her out of me, I cried with her.

So today, when I celebrate my first Mother's Day with Chloë and Josh, I celebrate it for me, for the 23 year old girl in me who was told she may never become a mother; I celebrate it for Josh who helped me become the woman and mother that I am today; I celebrate it for my mom who gets to see her own daughter a mother, every day; and I celebrate it for all mothers. Especially those who thought they may never become one. Happy Mother's Day.

with my mom

when we were still kids ourselves...

pregnant already without knowing it

my Christmas miracle

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